


It's called Kinnetic

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-07
Updated: 2006-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-27 04:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12073281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Friendly match USA -- England; Justin really hates football and is so not amused as Daphne dragged him to the stadium. His mood however changes noticeably as England's star kicker Kinney enters the field… **Answer to QaF Soccer Challenge 2006** (this is the english version)





	It's called Kinnetic

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: Thanks for the great beta-job to Sam :-)  


* * *

**It’s called Kinnetic**

Justin was given a horrible fright before wrinkling his nose in disapproval when right next to him a stout man with white, blue and red war paint blew in his colossal tooter.

“Gosh! Isn’t it fantastic here?” Daphne clapped her hands, hopped on the spot twice and slumped on her garish red plastic seat, beaming with happiness. They sat in the first row, directly behind the barrier where they had an excellent view. “We need a photo!” Completely excited, she fished out her compact camera from her backpack and poked Justin in the ribs. “Come on.  Ask him whether he takes a photo of us!”

“Who?” Justin rubbed his arm. He didn’t like it here at all. It was loud, shrill and nobody showed the least bit of civility.

“Well…him!” The girl pointed with impatience at the stout tooter man. “Come on, ask him.”

“Hmm.” Reluctantly, Justin tipped the man next to him on the shoulder. “Sir? Hello? Sir?”

The man heard nothing.  Presumably because he drowned himself with the residuary US chant in a load voice.

“Daphne. Daphne I think he doesn’t hear-”

Justin forgot what he was trying to say as he turned around to his friend and found her with raised arms on her seat shouting loudly.

_“U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!”_

_Great_. He should’ve smelled the rat right away as four hours ago a young woman with small flags painted on her face, a scarf around her neck (even though it was 28 degrees) and a way too big sweater on her body, had showed up in front of his hotel room door. “Please, please Justin! I swear most of the players are gay! You will have the time of your life!”

Pfft. Sure. If this stadium held just one of these barbarian people who played for the same team as Justin, he would climb over the barrier and run over the lawn. Naked!

An impressive Queen classic was heard over the speakers and a young woman with a basket full of cheese pretzels passed to sell her goods for a cheap 8 pounds per item.

“Oh, I want one!” Daphne shouted immediately, discontinuing her battle singing. “You too, Jus?” 

“Hmm.” The blonde grumbled a little pissed, but dug into his pocket for a couple of crumpled bank notes anyway before accepting a greasy pretzel. After all, he was frustrated and eating was still the best thing he knew to cheer himself up.

“Oh come on!” Daphne bit a large piece from her pretzel and smiled. “Stop being so grumpy. I know you love it here.”

“Really? And how did you figure that?!” He chewed and pointed around with his cheese pretzel. “It’s way too loud and awfully dirty. And have you seen that man over there?” Justin gestured in disgust. “He’s already drinking his fourth bottle of beer. He probably is a hooligan!”

_Hh?_ Daphne frowned, cocked an eyebrow in confusion and then shook her head. “Justin you’re not even trying to enjoy yourself. Relax. Trust me, once the game starts you won’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Oh yeah? Just yesterday you said the same thing as you dragged me into that strip club!” Justin shuddered at the retrospection of a smudgy leather daddy who wanted to buy him a Cuba Libre with a straw and then comprising it into an invitation for a romantic evening for two.  That really wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat anytime in the near future.  

This England vacation had such a promising start, with all the art and culture and wonderful shopping facilities.  

But on their fourth morning Daphne had woken up; exclaiming, “Justin, today we do something funny!”

He hadn’t the time to look that term up in his dictionary before he found himself in some filthy piercing studio in SoHo to get his part of two friendship nipple rings.

Freddy Mercury silenced through the speaker system, before the whole stadium raised cheering from the seats as a loud voice announced the upcoming friendly game. 

A few children entered the field carrying the flags of the two countries followed by some officials and two rows of soccer players. One team in deep blue and black, the other team in white and black.  

In Justin’s opinion, both were a bit out of fashion for such nicely build athletic bodys.  But he rose from his seat and applauded anyway. That was common decency after all. 

Both teams lined up and the guest country got the honor to play their national anthem first.

Immediately every American in the bleachers stood at attention with their right hand proud above their chest.  And Daphne winced only briefly before she remembered why it would’ve been a better idea to get the right nipple pierced instead of the left side.

_“Oooh  say, can you see- by the dawn's early light- whaat so proou-dly we hailed at the twilight's last glea-ming.”_

Justin only mumbled the lyrics along because he always felt embarrassed for twisting the words in the part with the rockets…

_“And the rockets’ red glaaare – the bombs bursting in aair! Gave proof through the night – that our flag was still there!”_

Therefore, Miss patriotism to his left, sang all the more fervently.

_“Oo-oh say, does tha-at star-spangled baa-nne-er ye-et wa-ave – O’er the laa-aand of the freeee and the hoooome of the braaaave!”_

He was sure that at this very moment even the president, far away in the white house, would’ve been proud of Miss Chanders.

The audience applauded and most of the fans from the American front sat down again. Or rather all except for Justin Taylor, who looked around a bit irritated and found such an un-sportsmanlike behavior really rude.

“Justin!” Hissed Daphne, slightly embarrassed and tugged her companion at his trousers. “Justin, sit down. Now it’s the opponents turn!”

“I know.” He swept her fingers away and confidently held up his chin. “It’s a friendly game, isn’t it? And as a matter of fact we’re guests in this country.”

Scarcely after he said that, the first tones of the old revered English national anthem were to be heard and Justin straightened his back and took great pains to sing along the lyrics, while Daphne slipped deeper in her seat and held her scarf in front of her face. 

_“God save our graa-cious Queen-- long live our noo-ble Queen...”_

It was amazing how strongly the words were still locked in his memory, since elementary school, when Misses Arbuckle-Hemmingway had taught the song in his English class.

“ _God save the Queen!_ ”

On the other hand of course, there were no such things as rockets and bombs in this song.  Something that Justin really appreciated.

“ _Send her vic-tooo-ri-ous!_ ”

He raised his voice a little more into the soprano sector and really felt deeply connected to the other nation, while letting his gaze wander. In front of the barrier was a roofed seat area where two men with bad ironed suits were sitting on a bench, singing half-heartedly.

Next to them stood three players of the English team, 'Weedman', 'Palmer' and the third name Justin couldn't read because the man wore a brown leather jacket over his jersey. Not really adequate to soccer shorts and cleats but definitely unconventional.

_“Haa-ppy and gloo-ri-ous!”_

The player seemed to be generally falling out of alignment because instead of standing straight and holding his head high for her Majesty, he stepped bored from the left foot to the right, squeezed his eyes together and then even took a pair of Armani sunglasses out of his inner jacket pocket to protect himself against the irritating solar radiation under the Perspex-roof.

# “Long to reeign ooo-ver us…”

_Unbelievable,_ thought Justin as he became a little entangled with the lyrics. The man with the leather jacket casually combed through his hair, yawned heartily and finally turned around, to throw a gaze over the audience.  He showed himself unimpressed by all the people in American fan outfits, but seemed to be amused by the single blond man, who was standing for the wrong team. 

Justin felt slightly anxious as the player quite evidentally nodded in his direction, grinned and then loudly and blatantly howled the last line.

_“Go-od save! The! Queeeeen!”_

“Oh my god!” Whimpering, Daphne pushed her scarf higher in front of her eyes. “Did you just see that?”

“What?” Justin innocently wiped his hand over his seat before sitting down.  

“What?!” Scandalized, the girl gestured forward. “Didn’t you notice that? Kinney has seen you!”

“Hh? Who's Kinney?”

Daphne looked at her friend as if he just came straight from Jupiter. “Who's Kinney? Hello?! He's certainly the best national player here! Jesus Justin, I thought you were familiar with the English culture!”

“Really?” Justin crossed his arms. “Well, he can't be that good if he has to sit outside.”

“Hmm.” She shook her head and pointed at her calf. “He hurt his leg a few weeks ago. He overstretched his tendons or something like that. It was everywhere in the sports news.”

“And now he’s only allowed to watch?” Justin watched as the leather jacketed player on the bank talked with Palmer and found he almost looked somewhat nice when he laughed, like right now. 

“They say he's alright now. So I think they will put him in if they need to.”

“Hmm.” Justin tipped his head. “Is he any good?”

“Good?” Daphne laughed. “He's a son of a bitch! His strike rate last year stood at 29.”

“Rate? Which ra-” He couldn't finish his sentence, because the whole stadium jumped with ear piercing screams on their feet when the kickoff was given. Even Daphne, who held her blue, white and red scarf with both hands above her head climbed in utter enthusiasm on her seat to have a better view.

Justin made a grimace and wished he’d brought his earplugs. Surely he would leave this place with irreparable eardrum damages.  

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°  

Thirty minutes later the terraces were quaking and the crowd roared in wild enthusiasm. 

Admittedly, though the euphoric US south side wasn’t as frustrated as English north side, because as the scoreboard showed the visiting team led 1:0.

That even Justin couldn’t fail to notice, though he really hadn’t understood the rules completely. The longer he watched, the sillier he found this whole thing. All the whirl about one small ball and two goals. 

Jesus, he’d rather not think about how much he’d just spend for this event.  For the same price he could’ve seen Mamma Mia or the Phantom of the Opera. Twice.

Well, now he was here and would try to make the best out of the situation. Even in his position between dozens of crazy flag-swinging, tooter blowing compatriots. 

Admittedly, one could quite clearly count the visual highlights here as one of the advantages. The lawn really was in extraordinarily good shape and the men who ran on it made thorough a very athletic impression. But what Justin secretly liked the best was the near view to the bank of substitutes, even if they were players of the opponent team. One mustn’t be too anal about things like that. 

Put aside the fact that Justin, after ten minutes, had secretly crossed his fingers for the “Black-Whites” instead of the brave men who so eagerly represented his home country. 

He couldn't do anything about it.  In his eyes, the English men played simply better and definitely were far more attractive. Taller…better equipped. Especially the 6’3 man who in the meanwhile had taken off his leather jacket and was now apparently entertaining himself with a couple of private calls over his cell phone. 

Relaxed, he leaned with his back on the Perspex wall, played with two fingers on the hem of his shirt and nodded from time to time or said a few words to his invisible call partner. 

After a little while, he even stood up and walked up and down the sidelines, with one hand on his ear to hear better, as the American fans intoned a loud 'We are the champions'.

Justin was fascinated. The man beamed out such a large amount of arrogance, that on the contrary it had to be rated definitely as dead sexy.  Especially considering his wonderful haircut, his perfect modeled face and his long, muscular legs.  Which couldn't look better in a pair of black polyester shorts.

“Hhh...” Totally mesmerized he drunk a big gulp out of his 1.5 liter 'Evian' stock bottle and then spilled a good quarter of it, as the second goal for the USA was given and the fat tooter man beside him jumped happily from his seat.

“Oh my god!” Daphne shouted excited too and performed a small victory dance on her plastic seat. “Justin, have you ever seen anything like that? That was so cool!”

“Yeah...cool.” The blond boy nodded absently as he wiped slowly over the wet spot on his trousers and looked again at player Kinney, who suddenly had lost his 'I couldn’t care less if someone would shoot Prince Charles’ face. 

Still, with the cell phone on his ear, he ran a hand through his hair and swore a clearly frustrated 'Christ' as he looked closer at the happenings on the field. He gesticulated to one player, shouted something and finally tapped his forehead with his finger, together with a derogative 'Idiot!'

Yeah, Justin could totally understand where this was coming from. After all, it would be really sad if the team would lose in their own country.  When everyone knew that the USA wasn't really talented with things like soccer.

It really was a tricky situation...

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

A good 10 minutes later was the blow for half time.  Daphne ran away to find the lady’s room and Justin watched with interest as player Kinney talked with one of the suits men. Loudly. He wildly gesticulated and presented a couple of impressive killer gazes after he generously made himself put down his sunglasses.

The suits man tried to stay calm, seemed to try and explain something to his player, then touched him on the shoulder and disappeared across the lawn in the direction of the locker rooms. 

Justin focused his attention to the opposite stadium side, where the English fans celebrated their team proudly, even though they lay behind. They swung white and red flags, sang and held up big posters. Most of them had the player’s names written on them and the most featured name was **'Kinney'**.

Justin squinted so he could read better from the distance. **'Give us Kinnetic,'** was to be seen a few times and on others stood in large red letters, **‘Play the Nutcracker Symphony**.’ Hmm. 

Okay, the English fans probably weren't that much better than the Americans, but far more inventive for sure.

Justin smiled, shook his head and nibbled at the rest of his pretzel while the English fans began to clap their hands in tact and stomped their feet, before an ear piercing, _“We still believe – We still believe – We still believe!”_ was intoned, followed by an unitary, _“It's coming home – It's coming home – It's coming – Football's coming home!”_

Justin found himself in pure awe as he sang along. It was great to see their deep loyalty, although the chances for England to win the game really weren’t that good.

“Justin!” Daphne was back from her 'pee break' and held her hands at her hips in disgust. “Would you stop already? You're singing for the wrong team again!”

“Hu?” Justin looked up a bit puzzled. Had he? Not really. Maybe hummed a little “I'm not singing.”

“Yeah ,sure!” She slapped him on the arm before sitting down again. “You’re really one inspiring example for the American nation. They should banish you from the country!”

“Daphne...” He smiled at her dramatic observations, but in the next second stood proudly and whistled in a very talented manner on his fingers as the English team entered the field for the second half.  

“Backstabber.” Grumbled Daphne and then cheered extra loud for the US team.

A loud whistle clang over the stadium and both fan parties started with new root songs.  

Justin remained, still standing in front of his seat, between all his celebrating country fellows, while he shouted a loud _Woohoo_ for the opposing team.

Incidentally, his gaze went over again to player Kinney who just performed a very attractive looking stretching exercise at the sidelines. 

He sat with widely opened legs, pressed his nose tip in an impressive way to his kneecap, changed over to the other leg with the same procedure and finally got up to jog a little.

Which apparently wasn’t failed to be noticed by the English fanblock, because enthused  **Kin-ne-tic** shouts flew immediately over the ranks and a huge banner with **´King Kinney** ´ in white and red letters was hung over the first balcony.

Justin was totally taken aback. With huge eyes and glowing cheeks he stared across to the opposite side and wondered briefly if somebody really would notice if he would secretly change to their faction.

“Hey!”

After all he came in peace and it really wasn't as if somebody would miss him here.

“Hey you!”

On the other hand Daphne would probably be really pissed at him.

“Heeey! Blondie!”

_Hh?_ Justin broke off his shouts in the direction of enemy turf. _Had somebody just-_ He looked around searching and lost track in the cheering as he discovered a hazel brown eyed man with the number 7 on his back not more than 20 feet away, leaning over the barrier as much as possible and earnestly staring in his direction. _Almost  as if-_ Justin turned around perplexed, then to the left, to the right and finally back to the front, as he couldn't find another blonde person.

Player Kinney raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“What’s up? You giving me some or do I have to dig myself a damn waterhole here?”

Justin blinked, stretched his back and startled pointed to himself.

The man at the barrier nodded dead serious, wiped a sweat covered hair strand off his forehead and impatiently gestured towards Justin's feet. 

“Hmm?” Justin bent down automatically but found nothing except trampled cigarette butts and old bubblegum before finally touching his water bottle and held it forward.

Kinney nodded approvingly and waved with his hand in a 'come on, I don't have the whole day' manner.

Justin took the bottle, looked helplessly around and then marched a bit stiff in the direction of the barrier. A young man with an orange colored neon vest came running, but turned around immediately after a quick hand signal from player number 7.

“Ah... good boy.” Barely in reach, Mister Kinney grabbed for the bottle, tipped his head and poured half of the content in his open mouth and a generous amount over his face before he sighed satisfied, shook himself, screwed the cap onto the bottle and handed the meager rest back to Justin.

“Thanks. I don't drink the shit they hand out here.” With that he clapped the blond friendly on the back of his head, petted lightly through the soft hair and then jogged away without another word.

“Justin!”

Justin turned around and saw Daphne hectically waving from her seat.

“Justin! Come back!”

A bit confused he looked one last time to the playing field before hurrying back to his friend.

“Damn, what do you think you’re doing?” She hit him madly on his arm. “They will kick us out because of you!”

Justin made no comments on this; rubbed his arm a little numb and clinged to his Evian bottle, which he would totally let cast in gold (make that platinum) first thing back home. 

                                    *°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

58 minutes into the game and the English team had already a few promising goal opportunities but couldn't pass 'Mighty Mouse' Novotny from the opposing team’s defense.  Player Kinney, behind the touchline didn’t seem that pleased about it. Again and again he shouted to his team, gesticulated and threw his arms in the air. Not to mention his unchristian manner of swearing. 

Justin loved it! …and grew awfully jealous of the man obliquely behind him, who had an amazing camcorder with him to record the game for eternity.  Not that the dumb game was in any fact interesting, but a little Kinney commemorative video wouldn't have been the worst thing.

One of the suits man went over to player number 7, said something, clapped him on the shoulder and Kinney nodded and jogged away again. Always up and down beside the lawn. Here and there he stopped for a little stretching and Justin caught himself sighing totally entranced, at the delightful sight of so much steeled muscle mass.

Kinney grabbed his ankle and pulled his leg on it perpendicular and backwards. One moment he held it in this position and then did the same exercise with the other leg before jogging away again, up and down the barrier.

Loud, rhythmic **´Kin-ne-tic´** shouts were again heard from the English fans, but it seemed as if the named player couldn’t care less. Totally unaffected he did his warm up’s and then looked occasionally over to the audience and directly towards the blonde young man with a water bottle in his arm.

“That's me.” He formed the words soundless with his mouth and smiled widely. 

Justin frowned, looked around to check whether the words were really meant for him and after six seconds for final realization, couldn't help but showing his brightest sunshine smile.

Player Kinney seemed to like it, since he smiled back a little, winked and than jogged to his trainer, as a stadium speech was made for substitution.

“Number 7 Kinney for 11 Goodman!”

A huge murmur and head shaking went through the fans of USA, as Kinney entered the lawn.

“Ooh noo!” Even Daphne hid her face behind her hands. “This can't be happening! They put Kinney in!”

“Yay!” Escaped the blond boy beside her, while he stretched his neck and bounced up and down on the balls of his feet in excitement.

Meanwhile the opposite stadium half celebrated their hero with proud doxologies of adoration, wherefore a general known Right Said Fred song was remodeled.

“ _He was built to be the best -- Number one and nothing less!”_

And even though Justin sat in the wrong block, he nevertheless climbed onto his seat and cheered at the top of his voice. After all, beautiful men had to be celebrated.

_“Leave him to his destiny – We have waited patiently!”_

Kinney ran a small circle on the lawn, simply because he was allowed to put up a show and less then seven seconds later had the ball in his possession.  

# “So- Stand up! for the champion --For the champion stand up!”

An impressive _'Kiii-nneeet-iic’_ wave rolled over the terraces and ended in deafening cheers, as the English team received a free kick from Dunas’ foul.

“Great.” Daphne weakly propped her head in her hands before covering her eyes. “I can’t watch this.”

“What?” Justin stretched his neck a little more, as loud **'Nutcracker'** shouts echoed through the stadium and Kinney positioned himself at the ball. “What, what?!”

The US players, who had built a wall in front of the goal, were showed in close up view on the screen.  And from this position you could actually detect the beads of sweat on 'Mighty Mouse' Novotny's forehead and even Ethan Gold seemed a little worried and positioned his hands thoroughly in front of everything considered sacred. 

“Caaa-straaaa-tiooon!” The English fans drummed in complete rapturous noise and celebrated the Kinney-cross with a loud “Wooooohaaaa” and another La-Ola-wave.

On the contrary, a cautious “Hsss” went through the south block and some male US fans writhed in solidarity pain.

“Ah too bad...” Justin slouched his shoulders in disappointment. “No strike.”

“Oh, I'm sure it was.” Feared Daphne and favored to keep her eyes shut.

In fact after 30 seconds, a few paramedics ran onto the field, weaponed with ice spray to collect the remains of Michael Novotny and his swatted manhood. 

Shortly afterwards, 'Mighty Mouse' left the lawn on a stretcher and was replaced by the much less aggressive defense player, Theodore Schmidt with the number 13, who nervously crossed himself three times before he took his position on the field.

The stadium screen displayed a golden **'Stand up for the champion!'** in blinking letters, followed by a brilliant close up of player number 7, who jogged with an innocent smile over the turf. 

And while the English squad stood proudly to attention for their Nutcracker, only one young man in the American block followed the instigation and stood brightly beaming on his plastic seat, despite the disapproving gazes of Daphne and the tooter man.

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

The first goal for England fell in minute 67, thanks to a miscue performed by Schmidt.  And even if David Cameron wasn't the most popular player on the English national team, he was celebrated enthusiastically.

In minute 81, Ethan Gold received the yellow card because of a dive and was sorted out only a few moments later by player Kinney, with one precisely scored penalty kick.

“Good thing he’s no longer allowed to play.”  Justin said with a frown as a weeping player 'Gold' was transported off the field. “It looks like something hairy has bitten into his chin. Eww.”

Daphne looked doubtful at her neighbor before she saw that the hopes of the American team were dashed as the English number 4, Blake Wyzecki, turned sideways and played a ball from Kinney from nearer distance into the highly celebrated 2:2 equalizer.

“Yeah! Yeah! Yeaaah!” Justin bounced, jumped and almost couldn't believe his luck as another close up of a widely grinning Brian Kinney was showed on the screen.  Even if he grew a little jealous as Wyzecki  jumped on his colleague and was rewarded with a big fat kiss on his forehead. 

Hmm. Well, but not everyone possessed his very own Kinney spit in bottled format. Suspicious, he looked around and tightened his arms around the precious DNA sample a little more. Who knew, in a few more years from now it would probably be possible to clone people.

_“It's coming home – It's coming home – It's COMING – Football's coming home!”_

While the Englishmen in the north block and the blond betrayer in the south watched the triumphant procession of their team, the American fans didn’t feel very amused anymore. Particularly, after US player Hunter Montgomery, in a last desperate attempt of a professional foul, stapled on England's number 9, Ben Bruckner, and orchestrated one spectacular fall against the goal post for him.

After that, unfortunately, Bruckner had to be substituted with Palmer because of the suspicion of a double nasal bone fracture. 

But as a result, the English team received another penalty kick and the fans sang their self composed 'Nutcracker Symphony' as a prelude.

“I can’t believe this...” Depressed, Daphne shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut as the trembling US wall was shown for public entertainment in close up on the screens. 

“Woooohaaaa!” Even though the La-Ola-wave rolled on the other side of the stadium. Justin at the south end, threw his arms in the air. „Kiiinneeeeeetiiiic!!!”

On the playing field, Kinney focused in on his human goal with an evil eye sparkle, made two quick steps forward and kicked the ball with a force of 120 kilometers per hour through the legs of a nearly fainted Theodore Schmidt who was unable to save it as it went into the net.  Gaining a score of 3:2.

The US block simultaneously drowned in deep self pity, apart from the blond boy in the front row who happily danced together with his water bottle a little victory lambada. 

Matching the delirious atmosphere at the English fan block a fat **GOAL** appeared on the screen and was replaced only seconds later with a huge **'It's called** **K-i-n-n-e-t-i-c** **´** in the ticker.  At the same time the final whistle was to be heard and Kinney fell exultant onto his knees as half of his team jumped celebrating on top of him.

“We've won! We've won!” Justin jumped off of his seat, bounced two times up and down before pressing a fat kiss onto Daphne's cheek.

“I think you've misunderstood something.” She grumbled with a pout. “We're the ones who’ve lost. And if you don't quit with that stupid jumping already, you’ll probably get to know your friend the hooligan.”

“Oh Daphne.” He smiled his best sunshine smile and gave her another kiss on the cheek.  He really loved her sometimes for being so incredibly sweet. “This is a friendly game! There you even celebrate when the other team wins.”

The fat man with the tooter seemed to have a different opinion because he stood up, threw a frosty gaze at his seat neighbor and scrunched his beloved wind instrument noisily in front of Justin's sneakers.

Justin pulled his feet under the seat and looked at him disapproving, then clapped his friend encouragingly on the shoulder. “Come on Daphne. Let’s ask the man with the neon vest if he’ll take a photo of us. For memory.”

                                       *°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

Some time later, the stadium was almost empty, the first cleaners walked with their brooms and garbage sacks through the rows and  Justin really hated that he still had to sit here to wait for his crazy friend.

“Danny knows where the lockers are!” She had shouted, her voice full of excitement and had pointed with a wide grin towards the young man with the neon vest. “He’ll show me and then I’ll get an autograph from Donovan!”

With that she'd clutched, with huge hearts in her eyes, onto Danny's arm, jumping happily away.

“Sir?” One of the cleaners stood in front of Justin with a garbage claw and waggled it in front of Justin's feet.  “You really have to leave now. I have to clean here.”

“Hmm.” Murmured Justin, a trifle annoyed but nevertheless collected his bottle and walked a few steps to lean on the barrier near the playing field. 

Great. It was late, he was hungry and the woman with the cheese pretzels was long gone. Besides, he could’ve drank half a lake after all the stress and commotions of the last few hours. But had he still enough water? No. Of course not! He had to be that stupid and treat the first star player who crossed his way with a refreshing shower.  Not that he really regretted anything...

Damn it.

He slung his arms around his holy bottle in order to protect it, sighed and then tiredly laid his cheek on the light blue screw top. God, hopefully Daphne would come soon. He really had to go to bed.

“It seems that somebody really needs to go to bed.”

“Hh?” Startled Justin looked up.

“Isn't it bedtime for boys your age?” A grinning man with sunglasses and a leather jacket leaned over the barrier and tipped at his watch with his index finger.

Good gracious. Player Kinney! 

Justin opened his mouth, didn't know what to say, looked around in confusion at the empty stadium for help, before deciding to lay a decent shade of red on his cheeks.  He smiled bashfully at his shoes because he had already forgotten what the man had said in the first place anyway.

Brian didn't care. He was familiar with people being speechless in the blaze of his glory presence.

With one hand he grabbed for the plastic seal band which hang loose around the bottle neck, under the screw-cap. “So? Why are you still here? Do you wait for your country fellows to go home? Afraid to get hit?”

That got Justin to look up. He frowned in irritation and squeezed his arms a little tighter around his bottle. “Why would somebody hit me?”

Kinney kept a straight face. “Well, you’ve wiggled your little ass for the wrong team, din’t you?”

Shocked, the blond took his chin up. “I was impartial!”

“H-hhm.” Brian took his fingers away from the bottle and smiled. “Admit it, the last goal made you wet.”

In a fraction of a second the red amount on Justin's cheeks rose to 90 percent and the corners of his mouth pulled up unitentionally, while he badly had to look back at his sneakers. “Hmja, that was cool.” He had to admit and rubbed his cheek on his left shoulder.

Brian leaned closer. “It was brilliant!”

Justin could feel the warm breath on his ear and rubbed his cheek again.

“Hey! Kinney!” One of the suits men shouted across the empty field. “Walk your damn butt onto the bus or you can use the subway.” With that he disappeared again, head shaking.

“Ahh, fuck... never a moment’s rest.” Sighing, the player stretched himself in an upright position and ran with a hand over his neck. 

Justin incidentally noticed that Mister Kinney didn't wear polyester shorts with his leather jacket anymore. Instead he now had on wonderful blue jeans. 

“Your button is open.” He pointed with his finger, before he had the chance to slap himself in the face for such a comment. Shit, this was all his mother's fault. Why oh why had she drilled him with such faulty manners?!

Brian didn't bother to re-check this allegation. Instead he stretched his arms wide over his head to stretch his muscles and naturally took the water bottle out of Justin's hands. 

“Well...” He screwed the bolt up and set out for the pitiful rest of the noble water at the bottom, which he had left there a few hours ago. “I really would like to delve into this subject…” He drank and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “But unfortunately... I'm somewhat in a hurry.”

Justin had watched the man and now stretched out his hand paralyzed for the empty bottle. But the player ignored him and fetched a black pen out of his jacket-pocket.

“Fucking Horvath.” He mumbled while balancing the pen cap in the corner of his mouth and began to write something on the bottle. “As if the old fucker had something to do with my damn butt.” He screwed his eyes behind his darkened glasses for the last lines, closed the pen and then handed the bottle back without a comment.

“An autograph?” Justin held his plastic sanctuary carefully to look at the brand new  inscription.

“Pfft, yeah, sure.” Mister Kinney snorted and put the pen back in his jacket. “Do I look like Madonna to you? I don't do autographs.”

“No?” Justin looked from the water bottle to Brian and then back again on the putatively inscription, which strangely enough only consisted of numbers.

“No.” Kinney pushed his sunglasses further up his nose, put one hand in his pocket and  gently touched Justin's chin with the other. “Thanks for the water Sunshine.” He formed his perfect lips for an implied kiss in the air and walked away smiling, while sending one last wave back over his shoulder. “Don't call after 2 am. I need my beauty sleep.”

Overwhelmed, Justin waved back, mumbled a little _okay_ and moved the bottle higher in front of his eyes, before he could identify the written number combination as a telephone number of the British cellular network. “Oh.”

“Justin? Hey, Justin! What?  Are you deaf now, or what?” Daphne came running from the side with a piece of paper which she waved in her outstretched hand. “I have an autograph! From him!!!”

Justin blinked confused up from his bottle. “What?”

“An autograph! From Donovan!” She jumped up and down and kissed the unreadable words on the paper. “He signed and said I’m cute.”

“Yeah?” Justin really tried to follow her explanations, but his five senses were still infatuated by the mind blowing smell of one certain English star player and therefore all he could do was to blink once again.  Daphne held her new achievement in front of his face.

“Ooh.” She punched him smiling in the side. “Are you mad because you had to wait here for so long? I'm sorry.” She threw her arm over his shoulders in a brotherly fashion. “Come on, I’ll buy you one of those greasy burgers you love so much, okay?”

She pulled him away in the direction of the exit while talking happily of her 'I’ve just met a real star' fangirl experience.

But Justin didn't even listen.

He felt like he was on cloud nine as he walked beside her, stared numbly to his bottle and then turned around to throw one last gaze over the playing field.

An amorous little smile climbed on his face as he discovered over at the north terraces a lonely white and red banner with the proud message for the hostile south side:

**_'That's right: You just saw the face of God – His name is Brian Kinney!'_ **

 

 

**\----End-----**

   

 

 

 

      

 

 

 

 

 


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